


Someone told me that I have a spirit following me around...

by FateFeather



Series: AUs From Last Night [4]
Category: The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: Medium!Stephen, Paranormal, ghost!bucky, supernatural (but not the winchester kind)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-17
Updated: 2015-04-17
Packaged: 2018-03-23 09:53:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3763723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FateFeather/pseuds/FateFeather
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>...That's the kind of shit that you laugh off till you're home alone. </p><p>Please note the warnings for this fic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Someone told me that I have a spirit following me around...

**Author's Note:**

> These are getting longer than drabble-sized. I have no self control!
> 
> Okay so this AU is a paranormal sort of one, It needed a major character death warning because otherwise we'd have no spirit/ghost character.
> 
> Triggers: I'm not too sure but I wouldn't read it if the tags were't appealing to me. Personally I don't think there's much in here that hasn't been covered by the tags.

"I can't believe we've come to this stupid bar every night for the past week." Steve listens to the people pushed shoulder to shoulder with him. He's heard every complaint about the amount of bodies in here and even grumbled to himself that getting elbowed in the back wasn't worth the hassle of why he attended in the first place.

 

'Stephen Strange: Expert Medium. One Night Only.' The sign hadn't meant anything to the blonde at first. He'd laughed it off with everyone else assuming this 'Strange' guy was only in town for one night because that's how long it would take people to figure out he was a fraud. But lately Steve's had this nagging in the back of his head that a medium might be just what he's looking for.

 

As a kid Steve didn't have friends. Not really. There were people that were nice to him and people that beat him up. There were also the people Steve tried to beat up but got his ass kicked by. Even so, during those years he didn't have a friend let alone a Best Friend. It wasn't like he didn't know why either. He was scrappy and scrawny and liked to push himself in ways that were most likely deemed unhealthy. There was one kid once. They were closer than anyone Steve knew, even today. But... Friends don't count when they're imaginary. Least that's what he learned from everyone who had friends.

 

He watches over the rim of his beer now as this supposed Medium works the room. It had cost 30 bucks to get into this dive, and the drinks list had been jacked up so everything was a few dollars more than usual. Steve didn't know why he'd felt so hopeful when he got his admission ticket. He also knew he could never show it off though. Nobody in his group of buddies knew that he was the believing type.

 

Steve felt a little better as he mulled over his thoughts. He did have friends now. Supportive People. Trustworthy. Made it possible to forget that he ever needed an imaginary friend in the first place.

 

Glass shattering by the bar pulls the blonde back into the room. Stephen is looking right at him, and for a second there's a sense of a grip on Steve's shoulder. It leaves the man filled with terror. It used to happen so often, things breaking around him when he was concentrating on things that made him happy. He’d learned to ignore the lack of glassware in his cupboards. Usually the iron clad grip was comforting and Steve only felt it when he was close to sleeping or about to fight someone. So why it was happening now, in a bar where he didn’t want to fight or to sleep. It made him tense.  

 

"Sir, your name?" Strange asks, walking over with purpose. Steve puts his beer down and greets this guy with a handshake.

 

"Steve." He answers, and Stephen laughs a little.

 

"I see our parents had wonderful taste when they named us." The crowd laughs politely and Steve finds his recent tension fading. Stephen and Steve; could get confusing if they had to be introduced at the same social circles. This is the first time Steve’s gotten a proper look at this Medium. Usually he’s seen the ones that go for glitter and sequins. But Strange opts for dark clothes, no particular style, but somewhat tight on his body. Steve on the other hand had gone almost too casual with his thrift store jeans and light shirt "Tell me Steve, why did you come tonight?"

 

"Well, when a sign tells me ‘One Night Only’ I gotta see what the fuss is about." More laughter from the crowd and even Strange chuckles.

 

"Be honest with me, Steve. I know that you've had your doubts since the last one.” Steve frowns. Last one? Last show? “A gypsy?” Steve looks shocked by the knowledge Stephen has.

 

“Yes.”

 

“A gypsy lied to this man, and stole his watch. Ever since Steve here hasn’t liked my kind of talent." Stephen tells the room.

 

"What?" Steve is floored. He never told anyone about that. "I..." All these people were here for the same thing. Steve could tell the truth. They would call him a patsy or something and forget about it in a week. "I came because I think something is trying to get a message to me. Somehow I think you can help me?" His sentence finishes uneven and quiet.

 

Stephen nods and presses his hands into shapes that Steve pretends to be interested in. But anyone could mutter nonsense and throw a few hand shapes around. The difference between this guy and some delusional person on drugs is that this guy made a living out of it.

 

"You've been friends with a spirit a little under 16 years. You called it imaginary and began to ignore it soon after high school." More hand waving, impressed cooing from some of the less sceptical in the crowd. "Since you've been ignoring it your plumbing has acted up. It has forced you to move more times than you can count and ruined your relationship with..." Stephen pauses a moment then says it anyway "Four, no… Five different people.”

 

Steve miserably nods. The room was in hysterics that his love life was in his backed up toilet. Putting on a forced smile, Steve concedes with his body language “You’re right.” He agrees, and he doesn’t really want to look at anyone in the bar right now. God, why did he come here? To have some… Mind reader come pick on him.

 

“Steve I’m going to tell you that this spirit hasn’t been harmless. When I saw it first come through the door with you, I knew—“

 

“What? You’re saying I’m haunted?”

 

“I knew it wasn’t as friendly as it appeared to be when you first wandered across it’s path.”

 

“Can you get rid of it?”

 

“Unfortunately I only mediate with the dead. If you want, I have the number for the Ghostbusters right here.”

 

Steve huffs a little, a half smile making it to his face. “I’m good thanks. I don’t think I want the marshmallow man in my apartment with four dudes with lasers.” Stephen laughs at the joke, and moves on to tell another person that their Uncle is sorry for shooting her Aunt.

 

“Here.” Stephen puts a beer into Steve’s hand. The night is officially over, and mostly everyone is gone, except Strange, and Steve.

 

“Hey thanks. You don’t gotta do that.” He replies, but hell, he drinks anyway.

 

“What I said about you is still true, Steve. You should seek an exorcist as I cannot help you further.”

 

“How’d you know about the mugging?” Steve asks.

 

“Your spirit told me.”

 

Steve snorts.

 

“No really. His name is Bucky. You met him when you were upset. He asked you what was wrong and you got talking.”

 

“I never told you his name.”

 

“He told me.”

 

Steve slugs down the rest of his beer, and ignores the burning feeling of turning around to look for that same kid who’d approached him back then. Bucky had always been at his side.

 

“Bucky never said he was a ghost, or a spirit, or anything like that.”

 

“Messages of the dead often don’t come across very well to the living. Maybe he tried to tell you, but could only say imaginary.”

 

“I did call him that once.” Steve admits. “He burned my books, and I got grounded for three months.”

 

“He says he doesn’t regret it.”

 

“I regret ever bumping into him.” Steve selfishly grunts.

 

“Steve. You shouldn’t anger things you cannot see or understand.” Strange moves his hand in that weird way again. It pisses Steve off more than he cares to admit.

 

“Alright man, show’s over. If you want to con me out of another 30 bucks it better be through a bar bet.”

 

Stephen aborts his action, and shrugs. “Just don’t do anything stupid.” He advises, and pays up his bill with the manager. Steve exits the bar a little after Strange does; leaving just enough space that he won’t encounter him on the street. It was just a performance. Muggings by vagrants were a normal occurrence in the city. Steve should have been more clued up to it, but he was naïve back then, too trusting.

 

* * *

 

 

By the time he’s back home, Steve has shrugged off the whole ordeal as a decent night out and flops down on to his couch. He flicks on the TV, and plays some comedy channel that he doesn’t really engage with. Halfway through a stand-up routine, the feeling of being watched creeps into his bones.

 

Steve shifts a little, assuming he was just getting a bit cold. ‘Bucky’, his mind supplies, making Steve straighten up. He looks around the apartment, but his brain is still telling him it’s Bucky. The TV flickers and shuts off, which yeah sometimes it does when Steve hasn’t paid the bills. But he’s up this month. Not a cent of debt to anyone, which won’t last long.

 

“Come on man. I’m not in the mood for this shit.” Steve barks abruptly. Now not only the TV, but the lights too. “Agh! Fuck you!” Steve yells with frustration. His next door neighbours bang loudly on the wall to tell Steve to shut up.

 

Then it’s silent. The blonde stands up, and after a moment of indecision, goes to the bedroom. He doesn’t bother to notice the ice on the window, despite the July heat that had left it open all afternoon. He’s too fuming to notice how cold it actually is now, and when he stops it’s too late.

 

He feels himself flung across the room, the crash of his bedside lamp signalling that he was somewhere near his closet. His feet come down from by his head, and he sits stunned for a good minute.

 

When he looks up he’s shocked by what has become of his room. The bed is upside down, his storage boxes obliterated into every inch of space that used to be his clean and spotless carpet. Steve gazes blankly at his fallen wall mirror, a spider crack in the corner where it fell creeping outwards to the message written in… 

 

DONT IGNORE ME

 

What was that? It wasn’t blood. Thankfully. “Jesus.” Steve breathes, still trying to get himself off the floor. He wasn’t held down, just winded. “Ignore you... How can I when you’re trying to kill me?” Steve regains enough breath to stand, and wonders how the hell he’s supposed to get his bed-frame back to normal without further disturbing his neighbours.

 

He’s managed to get his frame upright, and slips the mattress on to the floor. He lies down on it, still feeling the effect of being flung into the corner of his night stand. He aches all over, and he shuts his eyes as he tries to make sense of his pains.

 

“Sorry.” Bucky mumbles. Steve remembers his voice but he isn’t sure how he's so certain of it.

 

“Fat load of good sorry does me.” Steve bites out, still sore.

 

“Thought you’d left me behind.” Bucky says, brokenly. Steve remembers how rough his voice was, strangled bruises around his neck, his hands, his feet. Steve remembers how Bucky looked, and even when people asked about his imaginary friend, those were the parts Steve left out.

 

“You got a good throw for a kid.” The blond praises. “Just stop messing up my home, and my life.” He doesn’t quite plead, but Bucky’s been on his shoulder for years, the kid should know when he’s going too far.

 

“But you’re _my_ friend.” Bucky snarls a little protectively, and Steve shakes his head as the mirror falls over and shatters under its frame.

 

“I’m allowed more than one, you jerk.” Steve argues. “You were always there for me, but if I’d known you weren’t imaginary, I’d have called up the nearest priest to deal with you.”

 

Bucky manifests himself, barely a teenager. “You didn’t want me to go when I offered.” He sits next to Steve on the mattress, and Steve tries not to look at him.

 

“Because I didn’t know you’d haunt me for the rest of my life. I mean, come on Buck, what am I supposed to do when I want to be married, when I want my kids growing up? I can’t have you throwing my stuff around, or picking up my pregnant wife and tossing her down the stairs.”

 

“You really think I’d do that?” Bucky sounds both enraged and insulted.

 

“Bucky, I acknowledged you for the first time in ten years and you broke my apartment.”

 

“I said I was sorry!” Bucky pouts, and Steve feels himself give in a little bit. Bucky was always going to be young no matter how many years he’d been young.

 

“Is there something I need to do? To put you to rest? Or something?”

 

Bucky quietens, and looks down at his knees. Steve wishes he could comfort the boy, but he’s tried before. All that ever happens is that Bucky turns to smoke under his fingers, reforming only when Steve doesn’t touch him. “I want to stay here.”

 

Steve shakes his head. “You can’t.”


End file.
